Fairly Zany Tales
by The Illustrious Crackpot
Summary: A purported collection of Animaney, totally insaney fairy tale parodies which I may or may not add to sporadically.
1. CinderWarner

**Animaniacs (in conjunction with The Illustrious Crackpot) present**

**A Series of Fairly Zany Tales**

**CinderWarner**

"Once upon a time in the fictional land of California, in an imaginary town called Hollywood," read an overpaid narrator, "were three little children."

Three young animalistic characters appeared, all in descending height. All of them had sleek black fur, white gloves, white patches of fur around their faces and feet, and little red noses. There were two boys, the taller of whom wore only light brown pants held up by a belt and the shorter of whom wore a light blue turtleneck and a red baseball cap. The smallest of the three, the girl, had on a pink skirt and a flower-shaped scrunchie around her stubby ears.

"I'm Yakko!" announced the taller boy, bounding forward.

"I'm Wakko!" the shorter boy proclaimed, his tongue hanging out as he jumped after his brother. The girl was last, widening her eyes sweetly.

"And _I'm_ CUTE!" she gushed. The disembodied narrator glared at her.

"The three children, Yakko, Wakko and _Dot_," the narrator emphasized as the girl feigned innocence, "were very poor indeed. So poor, in fact, that they had to live in a watertower."

The scene changed to show a tall, yellow-and-red watertower standing on stilts over a small, bustling town known by the false handle of Burbank. Yakko, Wakko and Dot were sitting on top of the massive conical cap of the building with fishing poles whose lines dangled into the town. They were humming their theme song, looking for all the world like simple fisherme—er, fisher_kids_, until Wakko's line gave a tug and he excitedly reeled it in. On the other end of his line was a man with a business suit and a briefcase, who was grasping frantically at a piece of paper on the end of Wakko's hook. Yakko gave a big grin.

"Fishing for lawyers with TV deals," he explained impishly.

Wakko took one hand off the pole and reached behind him. Pulling out a pair of scissors, he cut the line smartly in half. "We always let them go," he said in a congested British accent over the screams of the lawyer dropping back into the town. He leaned over the side of the watertower and waved at him. "Bye-bye!" he called.

"Be free, little one!" Yakko added. He smirked at the reader. "We love doing that."

Dot yawned and preened herself. "Oh, how I wish we could meet _movie stars!_" she read disinterestedly off a cue card. "But we are so poor we must live in a watertower, so we shall never find one."

"What the children didn't know, however," the narrator continued, "was that the wealthy leader of the movie company, Mr. Plotz, was in despair."

The scene changed to show the head offices on the Warner Lot, where a small, stocky, white-haired man in a blue business suit was pacing restlessly up and down a long table. "This is a catastrophe!" he cried, rubbing his skull. "The latest movie is overbudget and we haven't gotten a leading lady for the picture! Oh, this is _awful!_" He stared up at a portrait of a square-faced, brown-bearded man with glasses. "Oh great Steven, what shall I do?" he wailed.

"Soon enough," went on the disembodied narrator, "he had an answer."

A huge white light suddenly shone in the middle of the room, and Mr. Plotz looked up in shock. While a chorus of invisible dolphins chittered "Hallelujah", a white cloudbank had appeared in midair below the ceiling of the immense room. While the CEO stared at them in disbelief, the clouds parted to show the face of the man in the portrait.

"_What do you want?"_ he demanded. _"I have to get back to counting my royalties, so make it snappy."_

Mr. Plotz immediately fell to his knees and stared into the face of the astral man. "Oh...oh, great Steven, what shall I do?" he cried. "I have no leading lady for our next picture and we can't afford to hire a star!"

Steven sighed irritably. _"Isn't it obvious?"_ he admonished the CEO. _"What you have to do is throw a massive ball in honor of the picture and let everyone in the city attend, movie stars or not."_

Mr. Plotz was confused. "Why would I do that?" he asked.

Steven pointed at the title of the story. _"This thing is called 'CinderWarner', you dope!"_ he cried._ "There's OBVIOUSLY got to be a ball involved! And you can have your pick of actresses at the ball, too!"_

As the dolphins chittered "Hallelujah" again, the clouds began to fade and Steven disappeared, grumbling over the stupidity of his marketing executives. Mr. Plotz still didn't appear to understand his instruction, and simply stood in the middle of the room thinking it over.

"With this great advice," the narrator narrated, "the CEO quickly jumped to his phone to organize the ball!"

"Wait a minute!" Mr. Plotz cried at the narrator, waving his hands frantically. "I'm still thinking it over! I'm not going to jump to my phone to organize the ball!"

The narrator's voice took on a steely edge. "I'm the narrator, bub," the narrator reminded him, and Mr. Plotz seemed to shrink as the voice continued. "_THE CEO QUICKLY JUMPED TO HIS PHONE TO ORGANIZE THE BALL._"

Trembling, Mr. Plotz ran to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?" he said into it, glancing warily around. "Organize a ball for everyone in town to come to." And then, in a whisper, he added, "_And find a better source for hiring narrators!_"

The disembodied narrator cleared its throat and continued as though nothing was wrong. "The news spread all across the land of Mr. Plotz's generosity in holding a ball for all to attend. Even the Warner children, during their weekly visit to the psychiatrist Dr. Scratchansniff, heard of it."

The scene switched to a small office with a long couch and a large desk, where Yakko, Wakko and Dot were jumping for joy in front of the psychiatrist. Dr. Scratchansniff was a tall, stooped, bald man with a white coat and glasses so thick you couldn't see his eyes through them, and he obviously felt uncomfortable having the three jumping for joy in front of him.

"YAAAAAAY!" the Warners cried in chorus, bouncing up and down. "_We're_ goin' to a _parrrrrr-ty!_ WE'RE goin' to a PARRRRRR-TY!"

"Shtop, shtop, _shtop!_" Dr. Scratchansniff cried piteously in a vaguely German accent. He would've torn out his hair if he'd had any. "Please, kinders, zhere eez zomezhing I haff to tell you!"

As dictated by the psychiatrist, the Warners _shtop_ped jumping. Instead, they leapt onto the older man's shoulders and latched on firmly. "Are you telling me that I have an inferiority complex, Doc?" Yakko asked in a childish voice. "I always thought there was a reason I liked telling jokes!"

"Did you find out about my eating disorder?" Wakko added on, stuffing a massive cheeseburger into his mouth and dropping the crumbs into the creases of the doctor's skull. "I've been _trying_ to hide it!"

Dot wrapped her arms around Dr. Scratchansniff's neck, cuddling up against his collarbone. "Did you realize just how _cute_ I am?" she purred, batting her eyelashes.

Dr. Scratchansniff, using a massive reserve of strength, pried the three off of him. "No, no _no!_" he exclaimed exasperatedly as the Warners tumbled to the floor and sat up in rapt attention. "It'sz about zhe _pahrty!_"

Wakko jumped up and wagged his long, catlike tail. "Is _Don Knotts_ gonna be there?" he gushed dreamily. "I always wanted to meet Don Knotts!"

The doctor's shoulders slumped over even more. "I'm shorry, Vakko," he sighed, "but zhat's imposszible now."

There was a short and uncharacteristic moment of silence as Wakko removed his cap and all four of them placed a hand over their hearts. Then Wakko put his hat back on. "Well, what were you going to tell us, doc?" Yakko continued. The doctor stiffened in surprise, obviously having forgotten about the question.

"Ah yes, about zhe _pahrty_," he went on, rubbing his scalp. "Vell, I'm glad to szay zhat you Varner Brozzers vill have un _excellent_ time at zhe pahrty..."

"_And_ the Warner _Sister_," Dot prompted, but Dr. Scratchansniff shook his head.

"I'm zhorry, CinderVarner—eh, Dot," he explained, shrugging, "but you cannot go to zhe ball." He flipped open a notebook. "Your brozzers, vhile shtill kooky und inzane, are mentally shtable enough to go, but you haff some issues mit social contact."

Dot's face fell. She bent over and picked it up. "_What?_" she protested. Putting her face back on, she pointed at her older brothers. "_I_ have issues with social contact?" she grumped. "Whenever _they_ see a pretty girl, _they_ jump into her arms and yell 'Hello Nurse'!"

"Vell, you do zhe same thing mit ze handsome men," Dr. Scratchansniff replied. "Und it'sz a bit more awkward to men to be called 'Nuurse'. Plusz, zhat _pet_ uff yoursz." He shuddered compulsively. "No no no, you cannot go to zhe pahrty."

"PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?" Dot whined, falling to the floor. She clung to the doctor's foot even as he tried to shuffle away. "_Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze_ let me go! I'll be good! Honest! I wanna _goooooooooo!_"

Pulling out a crowbar, Dr. Scratchansniff managed to disentangle his pantscuff from the youngest Warner's grip. "I'm _zhorry_," he repeated, grunting from the effort of trying to _keep_ her off of him, "but zhat is zhat, und your brozzers vill not let you go to zhe pahrty eizzer."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Dot continued to cry even as Yakko and Wakko grabbed her by the arms and dragged her out of the office. As the door shut, Dr. Scratchansniff wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead.

"Zhe cusstomersz isz bad," he remarked, "but zhe pay isz guudt!"

He then began to laugh for a while before realizing that he had never actually been paid.

"Now our poor Dot was quite distraught," the narrator said sympathetically as the scene switched to the interior of the watertower. "A crisis for this little Dot; it seemed to her like quite a spot." The narrator suddenly paused in a moment of revelation. "Oh my goodness! I was a poet—_and I wasn't aware!_"

Dot was sitting in the middle of the large room right next to the log floe while Yakko and Wakko rooted around in the closet for suitable ballroom costumes. So far, Yakko had on a top hat and monocle while Wakko looked like he was going to a yodeling competition.

"C'moooooooon," Dot implored her brothers as Yakko confusedly found a man with black hair, bushy eyebrows, a bushier mustache and glasses hiding in the back of the closet. He tossed the Marx aside as Dot went on. "PLEEEEEEEEEASE let me go with you?" she begged. "That ol' Scratchy will never know! C'mon, PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?"

Wakko stood up straighter and adjusted the suspenders on his lederhosen. Yakko tied on a red bowtie with a flourish, adding a suit jacket he'd picked up at Moe Howard's yard sale. "You heard the doc, sis," Yakko reminded her with a wicked grin, imitating the psychiatrist's voice. "No _pahrty_ for zhe Varner Seester. She hasz szome issues mit _social contact_."

Crossing her arms, Dot glared stubbornly at the floor. Wakko's tongue lolled out again as he glanced back at her. "Don't worry," he assured her as he and Yakko creaked open the watertower door. "We'll bring you some food—" He burped. "If I don't eat it all."

"Fat chance," Dot grumbled as they shut the door behind them and skipped down the ladder and into the city below.

"Things looked bad for the youngest Warner," the narrator sighed. "All alone in the watertower, unable to go to the ball, locked in with no—"

"Ah, can it!" Dot snapped. "I don't need _you_ adding to it."

The narrator fell silent. Dot sighed.

"Oh, woe is me!" she wailed dramatically, throwing herself piteously against the curved wall. "Oh, despair! Oh, this is so awful! Ohhhhhhh!" She slumped down and started sobbing. "The world is so CRUEL! What did I do to deserve this?" She sniffled delicately. "They hate me because I'm _cute_." At that, she began to bawl again. "OHHHHHHHH!"

After a moment, she looked up at the reader confidentially. "I'm going for an Oscar here," she hissed, "don't blow it." She then continued bawling. "OH, THIS IS TERRIBLE! ISN'T THERE ANYONE WHO CAN—"

"Dot was sobbing terribly, but at that moment," the narrator interrupted, "a _miracle_ occurred."

The sound of a saxophone bleating out a steamy solo proved the narrator's point as a shimmer of gaudy, sparkly effects erupted into the center of the room. As the solo reached its peak, the sparkly effects resolved into the form of a woman perhaps in her twenties, a slim, well-built woman with an elegant head of blonde hair. She was wearing a nurse's uniform and also happened to have shimmering wings and a small wand with a star at the tip. She also just _happened_ to be floating in midair.

Standing up, Dot blinked and rubbed her eyes, not believing the woman's physique. "Who're _you?_" she asked.

The woman smiled sweetly. "I'm your Fairy GodNurse," she explained in a smooth voice that would've made most men weep—_or_ revert to primal states and carry her off to their caves. The nurse inclined her wand. "I heard you wanted to go to the ball?"

Dot looked up at her pointedly. "Give me a figure like _yours_, honey, and I won't _need_ to go to the ball!"

The GodNurse smiled sweetly. "Sorry, little girl," she said, "this story's called 'CinderWarner', not 'SupermodelWarner'." She looked around the room. "Do you have a pumpkin for me to turn into a carriage?"

Abandoning the main room, Dot ducked into the kitchen and rooted through the cupboards, tossing out such items from it as a chicken leg, a head of lettuce, a few pots and pans, a live sea otter, an old magazine, a Roman general and a couple hundred dollars' worth of lawsuits from various fairytale characters. She returned to the main room with a small metal can. "I've got _canned_ pumpkin!" she announced. The nurse sighed.

"Oh well," she said, then raised her wand. "Fibberty Fabio Foo!" she chanted, and the tin can full of liquidized pumpkin promptly turned into a _giant_ tin can full of liquidized pumpkin. Dot looked first at the can, then at the GodNurse, then (for lack of a better description) raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think so," Dot informed her. The nurse shrugged apologetically.

"New wand," she explained. She shook the wand hard and dislodged some extra sparks before pointing it at the can again. This time, the liquid pumpkin completely disappeared and the can itself became somewhat of a tin soapbox racer, with the pumpkin-shaped label still on it. Dot glared at the GodNurse, then sighed.

"I guess it'll have to do," she complained long-sufferingly, then looked back up at her benefactor. "This thing got an engine or what?"

The GodNurse shook her head. "I need two white mice," she instructed, holding up two slender fingers in case Dot had trouble counting.

"Right then," the narrator recited, "two white mice just _happened_ to scurry across the floor."

Just as this was announced, two nondescript white mice _did_ just happen to scurry across the floor. With a cry of "Jonnity Jonnity Depp", the GodNurse pointed her wand at them and fired. In a moment the mice had been transformed into two mice on their hind legs, one tall with protrudant teeth and the other small with a large head.

"_Zort!_" the taller one ejaculated, flexing his hands. "That was surprising."

The shorter one's eyes widened as he realized that he could speak. "This is incredible, Pinky!" he informed the tall mouse. "I now have a more advanced intellect! Perfect for...for..." He finally came to a decision. "_For taking over the world!_ Come, we must plan!"

At that the two mice scurried out of the watertower. Dot stared after them. "Why'm I getting a bad feeling about this?" she asked the nurse.

"Maybe because we still need something to turn into a pair of horses," the GodNurse replied indifferently, not seeming to care much about the massive force she'd just unleashed on the universe at large.

Dot sighed. "I _knew_ it would come to this," she grumbled overdramatically, pulling out a tiny burlap sack. Rooting around in it for a moment, she managed to remove a large, tan and white dog with a black nose and a small, gray cat with green eyes.

"This looks like fun, yeah, yeah, _definitely_ fun," the dog panted. The cat rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, Runt," she said as the two of them were suddenly turned into a pair of horses. With another flick of her wand, the GodNurse turned the Gag Bag into a harness and hooked the horses up to the tin-can buggy. Dot looked it over critically.

"Not bad," she admitted, then pointed at her skirt. "Now make like Saks."

"Raising her wand high above her head," the narrator said as the action took place, "the GodNurse chanted 'Hossely Hassely Hoff' and Dot's skirt was transformed into a GodNurse Original™."

The narrator was actually right, as Dot was now in full pink formal dress complete with poofy sleeves and pink glass slippers. Her gloves were transformed into ones that extended all the way up to her elbow, and even her tail looked curly and proper. She whistled. "Nice duds," she complimented the GodNurse. "Now I need...a _driver_."

The GodNurse waved her wand again and Ralph the Guard dropped out of thin air and onto the tin-can carriage. Dot sighed.

"I need to be more specific," she muttered, then clambered into her seat in the can. Sitting up straight, she instructed, "Now get this bucket of bolts to the ball!"

With a "HYAH!", Ralph snapped the reins and the horse that had previously been Runt immediately leapt through the wall, dragging the carriage as well as the Rita-horse behind him. As the screams of the passengers in free-fall over Burbank died away, the GodNurse exhaled massively.

"What _I_ do for a living," she bemoaned, then "poof"ed away to join a Women's Rights convention.

"At Mr. Plotz's offices," the narrator continued as the scene switched to said location, "the party was going _splendidly_. Aside from Batman drinking a bit too much of the punch, nothing had gone wrong, and Mr. Plotz was about to introduce his star guest."

The room was a large one, something like a high school gymnasium, and filled with gaudy chandeliers, proper music and lots of tiny snacks on trays. Lots of people were there, movie stars or no, and off in the corner Yakko and Wakko could be spotted drooling over a tall, gorgeous female mink. Lots of famous caricatures I am not legally allowed to describe were milling about the room, and off to the side was Mr. Plotz staring at his watch.

"It's been _hours_ and I haven't found a leading lady!" he agonized, then turned and spoke to a man who was completely hidden behind a curtain. "You're going to have to go out there soon!"

There came a noncommittal grunt from the other side of the curtain. Mr. Plotz sighed, then cued the spotlights towards himself.

"As everyone in the room watched," the narrator went on, "Mr. Plotz introduced the star."

"Eh, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, staring worriedly from side to side, "I'd like to introduce the star of our next picture."

A tall, handsome man with a muscular build and long brown hair sidled out from behind the curtain.

"My, eh, esteemed guests," Mr. Plotz announced, "Mel—"

"He was cut off," the narrator broke in, "by a huge noise."

Right on cue, Dot's carriage smashed right through the wall as the Runt horse skidded to a halt in the middle of the room. Ralph was sent flying into Batman _and_ the punch bowl, the tin-can carriage landed on one of the fancy chandeliers, and Dot ricocheted right out of her seat and into the star actor's arms.

"Hell-_lo_ Mr. Lethal Weapon!" she cried, latching onto him possessively.

"The entire audience was aghast!" the narrator described.

"We're aghast!" the audience gasped.

"I've got a leading lady!" Mr. Plotz realized in relief, hopping up and down.

"And I've got a _wife!_" the star cried as he pressed Dot close to him and—

—————————————————————

"HEY!" Yakko broke in, interrupting Dot in her storytelling. He poked his finger at her accusatorily. "This isn't a _story!_ This's selfish fantasizing!"

Dot narrowed her eyes as Wakko took the book back. "You two ruin all my fun," she grumbled.

—**END—**


	2. Rumplestiltbrain

"_Gee Brain, whaddaya wanna do tonight?"_

"_The same thing we do every night, Pinky: TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!"_

**Rumplestiltbrain**

Once upon a time in medieval England, there lived a very poor miller and his only daughter. They were so destitute they could only afford a one-room house, and the only sort of floor they had was a sheet of straw. The miller was a very desperate man, and his daughter, although only about eighteen, was very pretty, with hair the color of honey and eyes like non-chemically-treated pools. Both were dressed completely in rags and at the moment were eating a dinner consisting solely of dry stew.

This story isn't about them.

This story is about the two white mice living in the straw on the floor. One mouse was very tall and gawky with blue-tinted, vacuous eyes, an overbite and a large red nose in the middle of his face. The other mouse, obviously the leader of the two, was short and stocky with a gigantic cranium, bloodshot pink eyes and a tail as jagged as a staircase.

"Want some more straw, Brain?" the taller mouse asked in a Cockney accent, munching merrily on the hard, tough strands. He swallowed hard, making his Adam's apple bob up and down as he grinned at his companion. "It's NUMMY! _Poit!_"

Brain, the shorter mouse, snorted irritably and turned away. "Straw, straw, _straw!_" he crabbed. His voice was deep and didn't sound too much unlike the voice of Orson Welles. "That's _all_ we ever get to eat. And here I am, Pinky, destined to rule over all of England but forced to eat _straw!_"

Pinky chewed slowly. "Ummmmmm, so that's a 'no', then?"

The Brain rolled his eyes. "_Yes_, that's a 'no'!" he snapped. Crossing his arms over his chest, he slumped against the wall. "I'm _sick_ of straw! We've been trying every day for several years to take over the kingdom, and all we _ever_ get is _straw!_"

Shrugging, the taller mouse popped some more straw into his mouth. "I dunno, Brain," he said, "I don't think it's so bad." He paused and emitted a "_Narf!_" before continuing. "After all, it's nothing like what that _miller's_ into."

Brain's ears stiffened. "Why?" he inquired, sensing something of possible import. "What's the matter with the miller?"

"Listen, Brain!" Pinky replied, and gestured at the two humans eating dinner. The daughter had pushed away her chair and stood up in dismay.

"You told him _what?_" she demanded. Her father, an older man with white hair, shrugged apologetically.

"Like I said," he informed her, "I told the King that you could spin straw into gold."

The girl was at a loss for words, and demonstrated this by opening and shutting her mouth several times. "But..." she finally choked out, "but _why?_ You no perfectly well I can do no such thing!"

At Brain's insistence the two mice scurried closer to the table to hear better as the miller gave an answer.

"I wanted to impress him," he explained lamely, shrugging again. "The King's a pretty important person, you know." He looked at his daughter, who was still standing up openmouthed. "Now sit down and finish your dinner, it's the only one we've had this week."

"Lucky them," Brain muttered, but the girl did sit back down and keep eating.

"Well," she sighed, "at least nothing worse happened."

She was contradicted by the miller coughing slightly and turning red. She stood back up again, almost stepping on Pinky as she did so. "What did you _do_, father?" she cried.

"Um, well, eh, it's a funny story, actually," her father mumbled evasively, coloring even more, "but he, well, that is, the King, he...he wants you to come to his castle and spin a roomful of straw into gold or else he'll chop off both our heads."

A small silence descended on the room, and Pinky and the Brain exchanged glances. Then they looked back up at the miller's daughter, who was once again struck speechless. "You leave tonight," the miller finished abruptly, then quickly found an excuse to leave the house. The girl was left standing confusedly in the middle of the room until suddenly a dozen armored knights stamped in, grabbed her by the arms and marched her out of the room. In the now-deserted house, Brain turned to his companion.

"This is _perfect!_" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "Pinky, _are you pondering what I'm pondering?_"

The taller mouse scratched his head. "Well, I _think_ so, Brain," he replied, "but if those two brothers are so grim, how come their stories usually have happy endings?"

Brain glared up at his companion. "Don't make me hurt you," he warned, and Pinky obligingly shuffled a few steps back. The Brain paced excitedly. "Can't you see? The King thinks that that girl can spin straw into gold when she truly can't! And if she doesn't spin the straw into gold, she and her father will be beheaded!"

Pinky sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Oh, Brain," he said, "this sounds _just_ like last week's episode of _Days of Our Lives_."

Grabbing up a fistful of especially stale straw, Brain hit Pinky over the head. "That girl will be desperate for someone to rescue her from her predicament!" he continued as Pinky tried to recover. "If someone were to promise to spin straw into gold _for_ her, she would give him almost _anything!_"

Sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, Pinky rubbed the back of his neck and thought. "Ummmmm, nope, I _don't_ think I follow you, Brain," he announced at length.

"You never seem to, Pinky," Brain replied, then decided to explain it for him. "If the King thinks that she can spin straw into gold, she will rise in favor with him. And when she remembers the one who helped her avoid being beheaded—that is, _me_—she will assist us in achieving our goal of TAKING OVER THE KINGDOM!!!!"

"Ohhhhhhh," Pinky realized, then thought of something. "But Brain, there's something I still don't get: how're _you_ going to—"

"Never mind the details!" his companion snapped, then dragged Pinky out the door by the nose. "We must make haste to the palace!"

This assumption was correct, as the two mice had only just arrived at the royal dwelling when they spotted another knight escorting the miller's daughter into the dungeons. Beckoning Pinky to follow, Brain scrambled after them and the two managed to squeeze into the cell before the door was shut. It was a giant stone room piled from bottom to top with straw, with a single spinning wheel in the center, and no one was there but the two mice and the girl. The girl, looking stunned and confused, was crying piteously.

"What shall I do?" she sobbed, her face in her hands. "I cannot spin straw into gold, but the King will have my head if I don't!"

Pinky's eyes were welling up also, but the Brain made a contemptuous noise. "Spineless creature," he muttered, then swiftly jumped on top of the straw pile nearest to the girl and cleared his throat. While Pinky, tearstricken, followed behind him, the Brain began speaking in a contrivedly happy tone. "Fear not, fair maiden," he announced, "for I shall assist you in your seemingly impossible task!"

The girl looked up in shock, then immediately stopped crying and smacked the two over the head with the spinning wheel. "EW!!!! VERMIN!!!!!" she screeched, bonking them repeatedly even as they tried to run out of the way. "EW, DIRTY RODENTS! GET AWAY!!!"

"No—no, _no!!!_" Brain yelled desperately, shielding his head as the girl raised the giant contraption again. "We're _not_ mice, we're, eh, we're—"

"Tiny li'l men!" Pinky finished, burrowing into the straw pile. "Tiny li'l men whose heads break reeeeeeal easy!!"

The girl paused suspiciously, still retaining her hold on the spinning wheel. "Then why are your ears so big?" she asked. "And you have _tails_ and _white fur!_"

"An evil sorceress cast a spell on us and made us _look_ like mice!" Brain insisted, his arms still flailing in case the spinning wheel came down again. "But we're _truly_ men! And we wish to help you!"

Slowly the girl put down the spinning wheel, but she didn't seem very convinced. "Papa told me never to talk to strange men," she informed him.

"Your papa told the King you could spin straw into gold," Brain pointed out, lowering his arms. The girl considered this for a moment.

"Fair enough," she decided, then sat down in the straw. Pinky cautiously poked his head out from the pile of straw and very timidly crawled back up to where the Brain was standing. "You say you can help me?" asked the girl.

The Brain grinned widely. "Yes _indeed_," he replied, a diabolical grin stretching across his face. He swept an arm about the room, indicating the piles of straw. "I shall spin this straw into gold _for_ you!" the mouse proclaimed, then arched an eyebrow significantly. "However, I _will_ require a _fee_..."

At this, the girl's face fell. "I have nothing to give you," she told the Brain sadly. "I am but the daughter of a miller, and I have nothing of my own." A few tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "We're so poor, my father had to lie to the king to impress him. And if I don't spin this straw into gold, my head shall be chopped off, and my dear father's too!"

Brain regained his composure, only rolling his eyes twice throughout her entire speech. "It's not what you can give us _now_," he began, "it's what you can give us la—"

At last Pinky couldn't stand it anymore and he fell to the ground sobbing. "We'll do it for _free!_" he bawled, blowing his nose on a wad of straw. "You don't have to give us _anything!_ WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Pinky, NO!" Brain shouted, but Pinky kept weeping.

"Oh, Brain, I can't _stand_ it!" he blubbered, wiping his eyes. "Her story's so _sad!_ You can't take from someone who's got _nothing!_ Oh, BRAAAAAAIN!!!!" He blew his nose again.

"Pinky, you—" Brain began menacingly, but the girl was ecstatic.

"You'll do it without charge?" she repeated, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, this makes me so _happy!_ I shan't be beheaded after all!" And she was so relieved that she fell asleep within the second.

"_Pinky—_" Brain resumed threateningly, and Pinky scurried back under the straw again.

"_Zort!_" he whimpered. "I'm sorry, Brain, but her story was so _sad!_"

The Brain grumbled and sat down heavily. "Not taking over the _kingdom_ is sad _too_," he muttered, then sighed. "We might as well get to work anyways...apparently I do possess that annoying entity called a 'conscience', and perhaps in a few years we may return to collect on her debt to us." He stretched, then stood up and rubbed his spine. "Now come out from under there, Pinky!" he commanded. "We have to spin all this straw into—"

The full realization of what he had promised suddenly hit Brain even as Pinky had hesitantly reemerged from the stack. "_We can't spin straw into gold!_" the Brain cried, jumping up in horror. "It's a physical _impossibility!_ What was I _thinking?_"

Pinky shrugged. "I never seem to ponder what you're pondering, Brain, so don't ask me," he offered reasonably. He cast a look at the spinning wheel and then, looking back at Brain warily, scampered towards it.

Turning back towards the wall, Brain smacked his head against it a few dozen times. "_Stupid stupid stupid!_" he muttered angrily, using a term he generally did not even _think_ to apply to himself. "What made me think we'd be able to spin straw into gold? How _could_ anyone spin straw into gold?"

Pinky's voice perked up innocently from somewhere behind him. "Oh, you mean like _this_, Brain?"

The Brain spun around again to see Pinky at the spinning wheel. The little mouse was so tiny that he could hardly spin the wheel and feed the straw in at the same time, but as the Brain could clearly see, the substance now twining around the spool was pure gold.

His jaw dropped to the floor.

"P—_Pinky_," he stammered, staggering over to the wheel where Pinky was calmly humming and spinning. "How did you—since when—"

The wheel stopped for a moment and Pinky beamed, shrugging. "I dunno, comes an' goes." He chuckled, emitting a "_Troz!_".

Brain shook his head amazedly, then returned to business mode. "Well by Copernicus, Pinky, start _spinning!_" he commanded as the spool filled up with more and more stringy gold. "We have the entire _room_ to transform!"

And so the two mice—Brain handing down the straw and Pinky spinning it—labored all through the evening and into the night. No light besides that of the torches could be seen in the windowless cell, but outside it was just the crack of dawn when the clang of metal footwear sent Pinky and the Brain scurrying to hide in a corner. Only a moment later a knight arrived with a short, plump man with a brown bear, wearing a large red robe and having on his head a magnificent crown. It was the King himself. (_Duh_.)

"The room is empty!" the knight cried, looking about the room in shock from inside his mail shirt. "But it was full of straw just last night!"

Then he saw the heap of gold twine stacked beside the spinning wheel in its place and both of them began to shout in astonishment and joy.

The girl was still sleeping on the floor of the room, and the King awoke her by shaking her shoulders. "You've done it!" he cried. "You've spun the straw into gold!"

"I have?" the girl asked confusedly, looking around at the room. Suddenly she spotted Pinky and Brain crouched in the corner and observing the commotion—Pinky gave a jovial wave—then her eyes lit up. "Oh yes, I _have!_" she agreed emphatically, nodding her head. Then she looked up at the King. "May I return home now?"

The King gave a loud, booming laugh. "Of course not," he said, shaking his head like she'd just said something very funny. In their corner Brain raised an eyebrow, while Pinky scratched his head in confusion. The miller's daughter was also stunned.

"What?" she asked. The King chuckled again.

"This is a pretty neat haul, if I may say so," the King explained, gesturing at the pile of golden twine, "but I want to know if you can do _more!_"

"More?" the girl echoed, trembling. She turned to look at her benefactors again, but the two mice had scampered off into a different corner and so she saw only a bare wall.

The knight looked from the gold to his monarch. "My liege," he stammered, "this amount alone could keep the serfs in linens for many years to come! Why, it would even feed and clothe the whole nobility!"

The King raised his head haughtily and looked down—or rather up—his nose at the knight. "I want _more_," he repeated, and shoved the girl at the knight, stooping over to gather up the gold the miller's daughter had already spun. "I have another straw-filled room at the end of the hallway that's twice the size of this one. Spin that into gold now or it's off with your head."

"But Sire!" the knight protested. "Right now? You're forgetting about union regulations!"

The King paused, then snapped his fingers in irritation. "Drat!" he muttered, then turned back to the miller's daughter and looked sternly at her. "I shall _allow_ you to eat and sleep and bathe and such for the day, but as evening falls you must begin spinning that straw into gold. I shall return in the morning."

He quickly turned and exited the room to do such other royal activities as watching puppet shows, and the knight quickly led the shocked girl into the maid's quarters. Once their footsteps had receded, the two mice scurried out of their hiding place.

"Gee, Brain, I wonder what she's goin' to do," Pinky wondered, rubbing his aching neck. "I mean, since she can't really spin straw into gold."

The Brain rolled his eyes and held a fist directly out in front of him. "Pinky," he instructed in a world-weary tone, "hit my fist."

"_Fjord!_" Pinky ejaculated, then slapped the top of the Brain's fist. Brain's entire arm rotated backwards in a smooth movement and his fist smashed on top of Pinky's head.

"_We're_ going to spin it for her _again_, you imbecile!" he shouted, then began pacing as Pinky massaged his bruised skull. "This is our chance to get a reward that could enable us to take over the world!"

Pinky paused in confusion. "But before, you said that we were going to take over England," he said. Brain scoffed.

"Don't be silly, Pinky. England _is_ the world."

Having successfully pulled off a gag stolen straight from an _Animaniacs_ comic, Brain began to stride towards the still-open door of the room. "Now hurry up!" he snapped. "We must prepare for tonight!"

His companion ambled along after him. "Why, Brain?" Pinky asked. "What're we going to do tonight?"

Brain gave him a withering glance and didn't even bother responding.

Later that day, just as the last rays of sunlight were fading, the two mice followed another knight as he escorted the miller's daughter to the second straw-filled room. "Spin all this straw into gold," he instructed her pointlessly, then shut the door and left—but not before Pinky and Brain had slipped inside.

The room was just as enormous as the King had promised, maybe even _triple_ the size of the first room, and so packed with straw that the mice practically had to swim their way through the stuff. There were bales of straw precariously stacked up all the way to the ceiling, and the only empty space was in the immediate vicinity of the spinning wheel—which was where the miller's daughter was sobbing once more. Brain sprang on top of a nearby bundle of straw and adopted the same "happy supernatural helper" voice that he'd used before.

"Good evening, fair maiden," he bubbled, retching inwardly as he made a small bow. The girl looked up abruptly while Pinky nibbled on a few strands of straw in the background. "I see that you must spin more straw into gold."

"Yes," the girl admitted, wiping her eyes. She looked up at the Brain pleadingly. "Please, kind sir who looks like a rodent, might you help me once more?"

Brain narrowed his eyes slyly and regarded her for a moment. "I might," he answered evasively, "and I might not." He stroked his chin. "Last night there was less straw to spin. I simply can't do a job of this magnitude without..._compensation_." Brain's eyes gleamed as he began to think up possible fees. Should he ask her to drug the King's wine the next night so he could conquer the monarch in a moment of weakness? Or perhaps he could ask her to steal back the gold she'd spun so he could barter with the King. Or in fact—

"Cheese would be nice, Brain," Pinky piped up cheerily, munching down on some more straw. "Straw is so yummy with that musty, _dank_ taste, but if we could have some cheese..." He trailed off, licking his lips to emphasize his love for the stuff.

"It is done!" the miller's daughter cried before Brain could override his companion's demand. "I shall find for you some cheese tomorrow and leave it for you in the room the King has given me. A great amount to make up for the great amount of straw which you must spin!" She yawned and stretched her arms, then curled up and once more fell asleep in front of the spinning wheel. This time, Brain was furious beyond words.

"IF YOU COULDN'T SPIN STRAW INTO GOLD, I'D SEND YOU TO A NIGHTCLUB WITH RATS CARRYING THE PLAGUE!" Brain yelled, stomping around in irritation. Pinky grinned and blushed slightly.

"Oh, you don't have to do _that_, Brain," he giggled. "It's been _years_ since I've been on a blind date with _any_one."

It took a lot of self-restraint, but Brain managed to grit his teeth and let Pinky off with a mere evil glare. "Oh, come on and spin this straw!" he snapped, pulling out from the straw something he'd hidden there earlier. It looked like a pair of arms made out of two pieces of wood, joined at one end with a screw so the "arms" could move somewhat realistically. They also had white gloves attached to one ends. "Because the room is so large," Brain explained testily, "I'll need assistance to pass you a lot of straw in a short amount of time." To demonstrate, he held the non-gloved ends of the invention in his hands and used the contraption like a pair of chopsticks to grab a heaping pile of straw and place it by the spinning wheel, which Pinky promptly spun.

"_Naaaaaaaarf_," he appreciated as the spool filled up with stringy gold.

Brain paused to savor the success of his creation for a moment, then resumed his task and began heaping straw upon straw in front of Pinky. "Now make haste!" he ordered, and his companion began to spin the wheel as rapidly as he possibly could. "All this must be finished by morning!"

If someone had been able to see into the little straw-filled room that night, they would have been amazed by the sight of a mouse, seemingly with a pair of very long and sturdy arms, passing mounds of straw to another mouse running frantically on top of a spinning wheel while a spool filled up with shimmering golden twine and a very pretty girl slept peacefully nearby. However, if anyone had been able to see into the straw-filled room they would have to have been one of the pieces of straw, so they would have had a devil of a time telling anyone else. Especially _after_ being spun into gold.

Come dawn, Pinky and the Brain were once more completely exhausted. Although they had rested during the previous day, it was quite a task and I'd like to see _you_ try it sometime when you're less then half a foot tall. (However, if I were to see you do such a thing, I'd have to be one of the pieces of straw, and...)

Just in time to interrupt a continuing throwaway line came the sounds of metal boots in the hall again, and the mice quickly scurried into another corner to hide. The makeshift arms were stowed underneath the spinning wheel, where in the dim light no one would think to look. As the King and knight entered, their eyes went from the girl, who was sitting up and blinking wearily, to the spinning wheel, and then to the monstrous heap of golden twine on the floor between them.

"I've never seen that much gold in my _life!_" the knight gasped, dropping his lance to cover his mouth. He turned to the King. "Sire, you could stomp out the plague with that amount, and still have enough to buy a full suit of armor for every man, woman and child in the world!"

The King scoffed as the miller's daughter sat up. "There aren't _that_ many people in England," he reprimanded his protector, then turned to the girl. "You have served me well," he announced, and the girl stood.

"Does that mean I can return to my home and my father?" she asked breathlessly. The King's eyes gleamed.

"No _way_, José!" he replied, rubbing his hands together in greed as he inspected the heaping pile of riches. "This sort of talent is not to be used except in the service of the monarch!" He turned back to the girl. "Tonight you shall spin gold out of _another_ roomful of straw, _ten times_ the size of this one!"

Back in their hiding corner, Pinky cringed. The Brain, however, had a gleam in his eye not too much unlike the King's: it was the gleam of a plan forming. The gleam remained as the miller's daughter was escorted once more to the maid's quarters, and as the knight returned to the King in the room of gold, and only got brighter as Brain listened to what the King whispered to his knight before picking up the pile of gold and leaving with a diabolical chuckle. Once both the King and knight were gone, Brain let loose his own triumphant laughter.

"What is it, Brain?" Pinky asked confusedly. As usual, he couldn't see what the Brain was so happy about.

"You shall see tonight, Pinky," Brain replied, dragging his invention back out from under the spinning wheel. Slinging it awkwardly over his shoulder, he started out of the room. "In the meantime, let's go see about that _cheese_ the girl promised."

As the sun is wont to do, it set again that night and once more the miller's daughter was shoved rudely into a room filled top-to-bottom with straw. It was quite clearly ten times the size of the room she'd been in before, at the _very_ least, with every possible space occupied by straw except for the area immediately around the solitary spinning wheel. Inside one of these stacks crouched Pinky and Brain, waiting patiently until the knight escort left. Before offering help to the girl like he had the past few times, however, the Brain turned to his companion.

"Now, Pinky, this is very important," he hissed. Pinky nodded. "Tonight," Brain continued, looking over at the girl with a greedy gleam, "I don't want you to say _anything_ about the price. _I _will tell her what she must do." Then he paused. "On second thought, don't say anything at all."

"Right-o, Brain!" Pinky affirmed, then clapped his hands over his mouth and gave Brain a weak smile. Giddy with anticipation, Brain clambered to the top of the pile and spoke to the girl again.

"Yet more straw?" he asked, not even having to fake the cheer creeping into his voice. The girl looked up.

"Yes," she said. "Now, will you help me again?"

Brain deliberated before answering, trying to come up with the best sort of response possible. This was a mistake.

"Of course Brain will!" Pinky piped up, popping out of another stack of straw. "He's _gotta_ help you so he can finally take over the—"

"_Pinky_," Brain broke in with a steely voice, glaring down at his companion, "Simon says _stop talking_."

Saluting, Pinky clamped his mouth shut tight. Brain rolled his eyes. The _methods_ he had to revert to. He turned back to the girl.

"What my comrade means," he resumed measuredly, looking the miller's daughter straight in the eyes, "is that I _will_ help you, but at a _much_ steeper price than last time."

The girl's eyes became wide and troubled. "Oh _no!_" she gasped, her hands flying to her face. "You're going to ask me to wash myself, aren't you?" She began to tremble. "Oh, kind sir who looks like a mouse, water and soap is such a poisonous combination! I would rather eat the poisonous tomato and be destroyed from the _inside_ than wash!"

Brain gave the reader a weary look. "This really _is_ the Dark Ages," he grumbled, then returned to the miller's daughter. "Fortunately for you," he said, forcing the sarcasm out of his voice with a great effort, "you must do neither of these things. However..." He paused dramatically, his insides quivering with excitement as he remembered what he had overheard that morning. "When you have your first child, you must give this child to me."

The girl blinked in surprise. "My first child?" she asked. "Whatever for?"

The Brain glanced warily at Pinky, but the taller mouse was still obeying Simon's instruction and so couldn't botch things up this time. "That's not for you to know," he replied cryptically. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Will you do it or not?" As added incentive, he reminded her, "If this straw isn't gold tomorrow morning, the King will have your head removed."

"My firstborn child is yours," the girl answered immediately, feeling her neck self-consciously.

"Good." Brain's eyes were gleaming again, and he leapt down from the pile of straw. "Now," he instructed, "tell the King tomorrow that such a large amount of straw taxed your ability so much that you don't know if you'll ever be able to spin straw into gold again. After seeing the gargantuan amount of gold, I'm sure he'll forgive this. Rest. I shall get to work."

Obligingly, the girl lied down and fell asleep. As soon as she was out, Pinky waved frantically at Brain and mumbled out an "MMMPH MMMMMMPHHH!" through his closed mouth.

"What is it, Pinky?" Brain demanded. Pinky continued to hop up and down, but he didn't say a word. Brain sighed. "Simon says you can talk now."

Gratefully, Pinky took in a deep gulp of breath, then rubbed his skull as he looked up at the Brain. "Why'd you ask for her first child, Brain?" he asked confusedly, scampering towards the spinning wheel. Brain pulled out his surrogate-arm invention and piled straw on the wheel, which Pinky quickly spun into gold.

"It's quite simple," Brain explained, then added in an undertone, "but not as simple as you are." Raising his voice again and delivering another batch of straw, he resumed, "You see, this morning I overheard the King saying that if the girl managed to spin this room full of straw into gold, then he would marry her so her ability was not used for anyone else. If this girl bears his son, that son will be the _heir to the throne!_"

Pinky spun the wheel a little slower as he tried to process the information. "Uhmmmm," he said finally, shrugging in bewilderment, "so what?"

The Brain made a show of being fed up, although he loved explaining his cunning plans as much as possible. "_So_," he elaborated emphatically, "if she gives the child to _me_, then _I_ will be in control of the _heir!_ In simpler terms, _I WILL CONTROL ENGLAND!_"

"E-_gad_, that's _brilliant_, Brain!" Pinky applauded, standing up from the wheel. Brain graciously made a small bow, then snapped back to attention.

"Now, hurry up!" he cried, shoveling load after load of straw at his companion, who spun the wheel as fast as was possible. "Hurry, or we won't have time to finish the entire room!"

Once again they toiled through the entire night, and just as Brain predicted, when the King came to see the gold, he proposed to the miller's daughter. With no other choice, the girl accepted and, as she had been instructed, told the King that she wouldn't be able to spin straw into gold anymore. The King was a little miffed about this...but he calmed down whenever he looked at the massive heap of gold laying before the spinning wheel. Two days later the King and the miller's daughter were wed, and Pinky and Brain bided their time patiently hidden within the castle walls.

Exactly one year later, at long last, the new Queen had a child, a baby boy the King was immensely proud of. She was with the boy always, carrying him along with her and feeding him when he became hungry, and she was very happy—that is, of course, until one day when two very small white rodents appeared before her as she was rocking the child to sleep. Her reaction was very prompt.

"MICE!!!!!!!" she screamed, whacking the two with a nearby golden scepter. "HELP! IT'S THE BLACK PLAGUE! MICE! HEEEEEEEELP!!!"

"GET—_AAARGH!_—A HOLD—_EEYAAAH!_—OF YOURSELF, WOMAN!" Brain shouted desperately, shielding his head as even more blows rained down. "IT'S _US!_ THE TWO er, _men_, WHO HELPED YOU SPIN STRAW INTO GOLD!!!"

The Queen paused, at which point Pinky promptly ducked behind Brain. "Oh yeah," she realized, then put down her scepter and continued rocking her baby. "What do _you_ want?"

"Some rubbing alcohol," Pinky squeaked, but Brain clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Have you forgotten your agreement?" he asked, readying his arms in case she attacked again. "You promised us your firstborn child. I have come to get him."

The Queen's eyes widened in shock and remembrance, and she clutched her baby. "I've changed my mind," she said hurriedly. "I don't want to give him up at all!"

Inwardly Brain cursed maternal instincts. They complicated simple matters too much. "A bargain is a bargain," he reminded her stolidly. "It's because of my help that you are sitting here now with your head attached to your shoulders. Did you forget that?"

Frantically, the Queen looked around the room. "I'll give you anything you want," she pleaded. "Anything at all. I'll give you the palace. I'll give you the gold. I'll give you anything, but _not_ the _baby!_"

Pinky straightened up a little from behind Brain. "That sounds good, Brain," he whispered excitedly. "_Zort!_ Let's go with that instead!"

Brain thought a moment, then shook his head. "We could be ousted easily like this," he muttered back. "Without the legitimate heir, we have no claim to any of it." Raising his voice, he proclaimed, "To me, that child is worth more than the palace and all its treasures."

The Queen hugged the boy even closer to her. "Please let me keep him," she whimpered. "Please. He means more to me than life itself."

Opening his mouth to force the child from her, Brain suddenly paused. Why not? If he gave her an opportunity to save her son and she lost, then she would be _doubly_ obligated to give the child up. "You may keep him on one condition," Brain offered, his formidable mind working at the same pace as his mouth, "that...that you _guess my name!_"

The Queen blinked. "Is that all?" she asked, incredulous. "Your name is Brain."

There was a deafening silence, broken only by a small "Uh-oh" from Pinky.

"How—" Brain was stunned. "I never—I never _told_ you my—When did you—"

"Your friend called you by name several times," the Queen pointed out. "In fact, he did so not a minute ago."

"But I—" Brain stammered, then lost all restraint. "NOW LOOK HERE, I WANT THAT CHILD AND YOU'RE GOING TO—"

No longer afraid of magical repercussions, the Queen stood up to her full height and looked down at Brain, who cowered uncharacteriistically. "You said I could keep him if I guessed your name," she boomed authoritatively. "You tried to break your word, so now I am forced to deliver..." A slight smile crossed her face. "..._punishment_."

And that was how it came to be that the next day, there were two more _very short_ stablehands working at the palace.

"After all this time," Brain grumbled, shoveling a pile of moldy straw into the scrap pile, "here we are again with _straw_."

"_Narf_," Pinky panted, wiping away a bead of sweat. "That girl got reaaaaaal commandin' after how scared she was before, Brain."

The Brain grunted incoherently, making a face as he uncovered a hidden pile of days-old horse dung. "Maternal instincts bring out the worst in people."

There was a pause as Pinky ruminated on this for a while. Then he looked back up at the Brain. "Brain, I'll never be a mother."

Brain raised an eyebrow. "I hope not," he commented, carefully scooping the excrement out of the way. "Now get back to work, Pinky. If we finish early, we'll have enough time to plan for tomorrow night."

Sticking his pitchfork back into the straw, Pinky asked, "Why? What're we going to do tomorrow night?"

With a sigh, Brain resumed shoveling. "The same thing we do _every_ night, Pinky," he replied tiredly, "_try to take over the world!_"

_They're Pinky,_

_They're Pinky and the Brain Brain Brain Brain BRAIN._

—**END—**


	3. The Mime of Bremen

**The Mime of Bremen**

Once upon a time, there was a mime who was sick and tired of being underappreciated and decided to go mime in the big city. However, just as he was about to leave, a five hundred pound weight dropped out of nowhere and fell right on top of him. Oh dear.

—**END—**


	4. Rita in Boots

_A/N: I apologize for the excessively bad quality of certain parts of this story. It's just that I finally finished writing it, and I already looked over it twice, and I'm really just too sick of it by now to be the perfectionist I usually am. Really, you should be happy I updated at all._

_Like Abbott and Costello_

_Like Sonny and Cher_

_Like Martin an' Lewis,_

_They're a perfect pair._

_Like Laurel and Hardy,_

_Like Fontanne and Lunt,_

_They're perfectly mismatched,_

_They're Rita and Runt!_

**Rita in Boots**

The story opened on a dirt road. Not too many houses were around, but some speckled along in the distance. Nearby was a windmill, a large white affair with red blades. As the scene settled, a fanfare of panpipes struck up a chorus and an airy voice-over began to sing.

_Once upon a time_

_(Which is how the story goes),_

_A cat and dog would end a rhyme_

_And be, perhaps, heroes._

A sign popped up reading "Plot exposition".

_Inheritances of three kids would cleave_

_In a time far gone away._

Standing in the dirt road were three animal-like characters with black-and-white fur and stubby ears, each child smaller than the other. Two—the tallest—were male, the taller wearing only baggy tan pants and the shorter with a red baseball cap and blue turtleneck, and the girl wearing a pink skirt and a flower scrunchie around her ears. The three waved emphatically at the reader.

_Their names were Rob and Jess and Steve,_

_For the Warners were from another day._

With a disappointed sigh, the Warner Brothers ("AND SISTER!" shouted Dot) blinked out of existence. In their place were three young men, one tall with brown hair, another somewhat more well-rounded with messy black hair, and the last with a square face, gray-brown hair and beard, and glasses. Standing before them was an older man with a build similar to the black-haired man, though he had close-cropped brown hair, a briefcase under his arm and in his hand a hat.

"I'm leaving today, boys," the man said in a voice reminiscent of Orson Welles. The taller young man, Rob, grinned slyly.

"Aaaaaaaaah, so _that's_ what your suitcase is for," he noted in an affected nasal, impish tone. "I was _wonderin'_..."

"Quiet, Rob!" the man snapped, whacking his son over the head with the suitcase. He looked around nervously, pulling at his collar. "I...eh...got into a bit of trouble in Vegas, and, well, that's why I've got to go on this 'business trip' today." The man began to sweat, jumping as he heard a noise in the bushes behind him. Teeth chattering, he concluded, "W-w-w-well, just to be s-safe, I'm splitting up the estate right now. All I've got l-l-left is the mill and the donkey, so—"

"I want—" Rob broke in quickly, but was interrupted by a haughty sniff from his bearded brother Steve.

"_I_ get the mill," he declared royally, taking the deed from his father with an elegant flick of the wrist and stalking away. "After all, I _am_ the head hog of _this_ bunch."

"Well, then I—" Rob resumed, but before he could finish, Jess, the black-haired brother, fell to his knees before their father.

"PLEEEEEEEEASE give me the donkey!" he bawled in an unconvincingly high-pitched Beatles accent. "PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!!!"

"_Hey!_" Rob managed at last as his brothers rode off on an old and tired-looking mule. "What about _me?_" he demanded. "This is robbery! I'm takin' this to the _feds!_"

His father blanched noticeably at the mention of the authorities, and hastily made amends—that is, he tried to think up a story. "Well, eh, well, Rob," he stammered, sweating badly, "that is, I—I have for you a—a—a—" He stuck his hand into the bush behind him and started rooting around for something, _anything_.

_This is where I like to think_

_You know just where it's at._

_For in the bush, before you blink,_

_Were Runt and Rita Cat._

As described in the verse, between the green leafy...leaves were two animals. At first glance, though, you would have thought it was _five_, since one of them was a huge tan mutt with enough fur to have pacified Cruella DeVil.

("Sorry for the Disney plug, guys," Yakko apologized, rubbing his head and shrugging. "We'll make amends by vandalizing Mickey's new clubhouse.")

The dog had a comically blank expression on his face, and his long black ears cocked warily as he listened for a noise. "Gee, Rita," he asked in a goofy yet worried voice, "d'ya think the dogcatcher's gone yet?"

The small gray cat cradled between the dog's massive white paws looked up sarcastically with piercing green eyes. "Ohhhh, I'm _sure_ he's _not_," Rita grumbled, dropping her head on her paws with a decisive snort. "It's been_ only_ three days."

Not catching the jibe, Runt nodded vigorously. "Yup, yup, you're right, definitely right," he agreed, showering branches and leaves on Rita's head with every movement. "He's probably still out there, yeah, _definitely_ still lookin' fer us dogs."

Rita rolled her eyes, twitching her tail from side to side. "Yeah, _sure_, Runt, whaddever you say." The cat turned over onto her back, stretched out and groaned. "Wish we didn't haveta keep runnin' from those animal coppers," Rita mulled whimsically, batting half-heartedly at the empty air. "I wish we had a _real_ home."

And that was when a hand crashed through the bush, grabbed her by the nape of her neck and tugged her rudely into the open.

"Hey, watch the _hands_, buster!" she hissed angrily at the older human, though not loud enough for him to hear. It didn't make a good impression on humans to hear a cat talk.

"—This cat!" the man holding her finished, shoving her rudely into Rob's arms. Clapping a hat to his head, the father picked up his suitcase and started running down the path. "Bye now!" After a moment's reflection, though, he doubled back, still sweating and nervously jogging a bit in place. "Oh, and if any loan sharks bother you, don't tell 'em my name's Maurice. Say I'm...uh...Rush Limbaugh or something."

And with that he ran off to catch a plane before realizing that airplanes have no place in fairytales.

"Oy vey," Rita muttered to herself, smoothing her fur back with a paw. Casting a backward glance at the young man still holding her confusedly, she flicked her tail expectantly from side to side. What she was _expecting_ was a nice bowl of milk, or maybe at least a scratch behind the ears, but what she _didn't_ expect was to be dropped rudely on the dirt ground.

"A _cat?!_" Rob wailed, tearing at his short brown hair. "All I get for my inheritance, which I earned by _right_ through hard loafing, is a measly _cat?!?_"

Rita raised an eyebrow at the readers. "Gee, it's always _great_ to feel appreciated."

Rob continued to rant and rave for a minute more, then turned to the small gray cat. "Well, _cat_," he spat, advancing menacingly on Rita, "I regret to say that you are going to have to join me for _dinner_. With my limited funds, I'm afraid my dietician has recommended that I eat more in the _feline_ food group."

Rita's fur bristled in fear, and she tried to run away. However, both she and Rob were surprised as something very large and furry suddenly bounded out of the hedges and onto the road between them.

"Rita!" Runt panted, pouncing on her. Rita's stomach collapsed with a small _whumf_ as the huge dog practically smothered her. "Oh boy, Rita, I didn't know where you _were!_ I was lookin' all over for you, yeah, _definitely_ lookin' all over."

Rita rolled her bright green eyes. "I'll bet you _were_, Runt," she remarked. "That was a _pret-ty_ big bush we were in there." The response was automatic, but right after that, Rita remembered the existence of Rob and stopped cold.

_A human'd heard them talk, and woe_

_For who knew what'd happen next?_

_But Rita stuck it out, by Joe,_

_Though Joe was in the Czechs._

For the first time since this story started, Rob seemed lost for words. "What—you—but—how—you're _talking!_" he gibbered, his voice traveling first-class up and down the tonal scale. "But you're a d-d-d-d-d-dog and _c-cat!_"

Runt's ears immediately shot straight up, and he jumped into the air. "CAT?!" he woofed, looking around wildly. He began to race in circles around their small group, glancing rapidly about. After a few circles, he looked at Rita. "Where's the cat? I don't see any cats. Do _you_ see a cat, Rita?"

Rob looked like he was about to say something, but Rita gave him a cool glance. "Ehh..." she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, waving a paw at the human, "could'ja keep that 'cat' stuff ta' yerself? It'd keep his conscience at rest."

The tall human nodded dumbly, not knowing exactly what he should say. Rita cast a wary look back at Runt, but the big dog was too busy watching for the purported cat to have heard the conversation. At length, though, Runt trotted back to their little group.

"Didn't see no cat, nope, nope," he affirmed, shaking his head emphatically. "Nope, no cats, nuh-_uh_."

Rita sauntered up to Rob, twitching her tail at him again. She licked the back of her paw several times, simply to act feline, and looked up at the tall man, deciding to get right down to business. "Look, kiddo, me an' the big galoot here want a home. _You_ are a human, or, by animal definition, an 'owner'. So, whaddaya say?"

At last, Rob snapped out of it and jumped in surprise. "Ehhh, sorry," he shrugged, still appearing to feel awkward talking to a cat, "but I ain't got _nothin'_. My brothers got the mill and the donkey. 'At's why I saw _you_ as a free entrée."

This was an unexpected setback, and Rita fell into serious thought. "Weeeell," she proposed after a moment, gesturing with a paw, "not s'many people know that animals c'n talk. What if you advertised me an' Runt in Vegas, an' I'll bet we could make a _pret-ty_ penny as a stage act—"

The idea sounded good until Rob suddenly remembered his father's words. "No, no, _no_ Vegas." His shoulders slumped. "Ahhhhh...I don't think this's gonna exactly _work_."

_A new idea then appeared_

_Inside our Rita's head._

_And I hope you think it isn't weird_

_That this is what she said:_

("I think all these contrived _rhymes_ are weird!" Wakko remarked, holding his nose in disdain and sticking out his tongue. "PEE-YEW!" Then he disappeared back out of the story—for the moment.)

"Oy, mister," the cat suddenly interjected, her ears stiffening as she stumbled across a new plan, "I think we can set things up _fer_ ya!" Standing up on her hind legs and jabbing a thumb at her chest, Rita pitched her thought. "If _you_ let us go off on our own fer a while and listen ta' what we say when we come back, me and Runt'll work _everything_ out!"

Rob seemed somewhat skeptical. "How—" he began, but Rita waved the question away before it was even voiced.

"Just leave it ta' _us_ and you'll be living the _high_ life!" Rita narrowed her eyes slyly. "And besides, what've _you_ got to lose?"

This was more than enough for Rob. "You've got a deal!" he proclaimed. He pointed to the furry duo. "_You_ get me a house and a way of life an' all that jazz"—here he pointed at himself—"and _I_ take you in as pets." His face split into a wide grin. "Sounds good ta' me! Will ya need anything before ya start?"

"Boots!" Runt interjected, licking his jowls. "Boots, definitely boots. They taste good, yeah."

"BOOTS!" Rob repeated, having heard only the beginning of the thought. Reaching into his pocket, he miraculously pulled out a pair of small brown boots. Then, without warning, he scooped Rita up and stuffed her two back paws into the footwear. "That's brilliant! That way, you can scamper through brambles without a hitch!" He paused, then flexed his eyebrows at the fanfiction audience à la Groucho Marx. "And they're the _latest_ style, too!"

Rita was ruffled and confused as Rob set her, wobblingly, on her hind legs. The boots came up about halfway to her torso and sagged a bit at the edges, and it was a bit hard for her to walk in them. "Actually, mister, I think Runt meant boots fer—" She stopped midsentence, deciding not to pursue it. "Thanks, kid." Attempting to balance herself with her tail, she took a couple of tottering steps down the road, beckoning to Runt. "C-c-c-c'mon," she stammered, flailing her arms in an attempt to keep her balance. Runt paused confusedly, watching her go, then his tongue lolled out the corner of his mouth and he scampered along behind. Rob simply watched the pair, then, as they disappeared into the distance he shook his head amazedly.

"I need ta' lay off the chocolate sodas," he muttered, then stumbled over to a nearby tree, sat down with his back against it and went to sleep.

_An hour later, so I'm told,_

_Rita and Runt had gone_

_Into the forest, very bold,_

_And Runt let out a yawn._

Accordingly, the dog's mouth stretched open wide in a massive yawn, terminating sloppily as he licked his jowl. Runt hiccuped slightly, then lowered his head abashedly at the disapproving cat. "Sorry, Rita."

"Quit breakin' the dramatic tension," Rita berated him in a low hiss, elbowing Runt in the ribcage. She crouched low to the ground, shielded by another bush, and twitched her tail alertly. Her green eyes were narrowed, watching for something through the foliage. "I'm _hunting_ here!"

"Yup," Runt agreed, flopping onto his stomach and scratching himself with a hind leg. His long ears lopped to the side as he cocked his head inquisitively at Rita. "Uhhhh...why're we doin' this again?"

Rolling her eyes, Rita gave a massive sigh and relaxed from her tense position. "'Cus this's our way ta' _easy_ street, Runt!" she snapped impatiently, turning to the huge mutt and gesturing with a white-tipped paw. "Look. If we c'n make this guy out ta' be someone really important, pretty soon everyone _else'll_ think that he's really important! So they'll pay their respects ta' him, and he'll actually _become_ really important, and _we're_ on our way to the _good_ life!"

There was a short pause. "Oh," Runt said unconvincingly. Rita sighed.

"I appreciate the chance fer plot exposition, Runt, but could'ja keep the plan in yer head long enough for us ta actually _do_ something?" Runt simply blinked at her, panting and with his tongue lolling out, so Rita continued very slowly and deliberately in case that might actually help get some concepts to her companion's brain. "Look, Runt. This's a fairy tale, so there's gotta be some sorta' king around here somewhere. If we give 'im a gift an' say it's from some real important guy, _really our future owner_, then he'll think that two-bit dude is important! So he'll set us all up in the palace, an' _we_ finally get the living accommodations we _deserve!_"

Runt's stumpy tail wagged from side to side as he stared blankly at Rita. The gray cat sighed and rolled her eyes. "Why do I bother?" she grumbled, settling back into her crouch. "Now _shhh_, I need to—THERE!"

With a feline yowl, Rita lunged forward like a mattress spring and shot through the bush, landing on something just outside with a soft_ thwump_. Without a moment's hesitation Runt bounded after her, skittering to a halt as he saw that Rita had something trapped beneath her forepaws. "Didja get somethin', Rita, huh, huh?"

"We'll find out," Rita replied, her voice clearly showcasing her excitement as she removed her paws from her prey, a small cardboard box with colorful designs printed on the sides. Using a deft kitty claw, she whipped open the top and stared inside with wide eyes, then—

"ANOTHER empty!" she wailed indignantly, tossing the box off to the side. And with that, it shall suddenly be revealed to the reader that Rita and Runt were crouched directly outside a fast-food restaurant.

(Yakko, Wakko and Dot reclined on the roof, Wakko snarfing down a Big Mac. "Betcha didn't see _that_ coming," Dot smirked as Yakko made a Tex Avery "AAAOOGA!" take over the Barbie "Happy Meal™" toy. But in a moment the eldest Warner was tapped on the shoulder, and he turned around to be faced with a tall red clown in a yellow-white-and-red suit and a ponytailed blonde model in an entirely pink outfit.

"Excuse me, but I think that's copyright infringement!" growled Ronald McDonald, although still with a painted smile on his face. However, he was unable to continue with the lawsuit because of Yakko and Wakko doing a traditional "HELLOOOOOO NURSE!" leap into Barbie's arms.)

"Be quiet up there!" Rita shouted at the ruckus happening on the rooftop, and with a _poof_, things returned to the plot. What little there was, anyways.

("What do you _mean_, what little there is?!?" Mr. Plotz cried, leaping into the story. He shook his fist, slapping a stack of paper that looked suspiciously like a script. "It's a FAIRYTALE! You've GOT a plot! Kids _love_ this sort of mush, and it's making _me_ more money! Now if you will just keep those pesky Warners out of here I think you'll—")

With a flourish and a quick trip across the keyboard, however, Crackpot—who was speaking in third person—managed to write him out of the story. Unfortunately, there were no more cameos Crackpot could write in an attempt to alleviate a nasty case of writer's block, so the author decided to go read some _Animaniacs_ comics.

Following that, however, the story resumed.

_During this long interlude_

_Rita had been hard at work;_

_She tried to catch the King some food_

_But Fate was being a jerk._

"OOOG!!!!" Rita fumed, tossing aside another empty box and crossing her arms. "Great, _just_ great! WE pick the _one_ day everyone decides not ta' be wasteful! I _hate_ capitalism!"

(At this point the author was about to pass a comment, but an FBI agent crashed in through the window and warned, "Don't even think about it.")

Runt's ears flopped over, dragging nearly against the ground. Even _he_ realized the gravity of the situation. "Gee, Rita, I guess we're not gonna get a home, are we?"

In most situations like this, one would expect the focal characters to sit down and weep. Rita, however, had entered Broadway mode. "I guess not, pal," she sighed, then looking up into the sky with shining eyes she began to sing.

"_Oh gee, why does this have to be?_

_I guess there's no more hope for you._

_And even less for ME—_

_What're we gonna DO?"_

It would've been left at that, but the voice-over narrator decided to join in.

_Rita was in a pickle_

_That was plain as all can be_

_And can you lend me a nickel?_

_Warner has caller ID..._

Rita snorted in disdain at the voice-over, closing her eyes and going on with her _own_ song.

"_We're stuck—that's what we are_

_Stuck with no place to go._

_We can't head near and we can't head far_

_Isn't Fate a nasty foe?"_

Off in the background, Fate dialed its lawyer to ask how much it could get for defamation of character. Unconcerned, Rita and the voice-over chorused on the next verse.

"_Ohhh, this is not all right—_

_It isn't even fine;_

_Why should there be a fight_

_Over who is next in line?_

"_We—_

Suddenly, a chunky man in silvery-blue armor burst out of the bushes nearby. He raised the visor on his helmet, revealing a stubbly face, and gasped. "A SINGIN' CAT!!" Ralph cried in amazement, seizing Rita by the scruff of the neck and scooping her into the air. The bulky knight began to dance in place. "Oh boy oh boy, I _gotta_ bring this ta' the KING!"

So squealing, Ralph ran directly to the palace. Runt paused a moment, then cocked his head at an imaginary audience. "Gee, I love plot con—contrivances. Yeah, definitely, _definitely_ plot contrivances."

His feet spinning momentarily in midair, the big dog lolloped away after the knight and the cat.

The palace was a grand edifice, one of those huge white-and-red fairytale-looking things that no one can ever construct for a live-action movie without using up the entire budget. (_pause to catch breath_) A fanfare of trumpets blew royally as the massive wooden doors swung open, revealing Ralph the Knight holding up a comparatively-tiny Rita. The, eh, _big-boned_ man marched proudly down the red-carpeted path to the throne, stumbling a little as Runt barreled in behind him, and bowed before the King. Rita respectively lowered her head as well, but peeped up at the monarch.

Sitting on the throne, in a royal red ermine robe, a small but important-looking golden crown on his head, was a blue-gray rabbit with long floppy ears and incisors that would have made any dentist weep. "Ehhhhh," the King drawled with a Brooklyn accent, popping a carrot into his mouth, "what's up, subject?"

(Yakko, Wakko and Dot looked up from behind the line of trumpeters. "He IS the King of Toons," Yakko noted grinningly before the author managed to shoo them away.)

"Duuuuuh, this, uh, this cat was, uh, SINGIN'!!" Ralph managed, straightening back up. The King just reclined on his throne, half-closing his eyes condescendingly.

"_Noooo_," he drawled sarcastically. He took another bite out of the carrot, dropping small shavings onto his robe, and waved the vegetable airily at Ralph. "Put da cat down, doc." When this directive had been followed and Rita had been dropped unceremoniously in front of the monarch, the rabbit leaned forwards to regard her regally. "Eeeeh, what brings ya here, cat?"

Knowing that her cover was already blown—and seeing as the King was a talking _rabbit_ himself—Rita answered. "I'm here ta' bring you a _gift!_" she mewled, then clearing her throat, she began to sing again. From behind the knight, Runt began to pant happily.

"_A gift of song is what I bring,_

_Your Majesty, to you._

_And so right now I'm gonna sing_

_An' hope Charles Perrault don't sue."_

("Ummmm, 'Charles Perrault'," Wakko read from a heavy book, leaning on the author's computer, "author of 'Puss in Boots', plus 'Cinderella' an' 'Little Red Riding Hood'." Snapping the book shut, he dropped it onto the floor and looked pointedly at the author. "You owe me a year's supply of pizza for these cameos, y'know."

The author sighed, wondering if it would count as a religious contribution on the tax forms.)

The King listened patiently to the verse, then waved his hand to cut Rita off. "OK, a'right, a'right," he dismissed, one of his ears flopping over jauntily. "Who sent ya?"

Rita stiffened, sweating as her mind raced. "Ehhm, uh, well, he's, that is..." she flustered. Runt hopped over to her side, and Rita hissed at him, "Quick! Think up an important-soundin' title!"

"The big cheese, _definitely!_" Runt ejaculated, his tongue lolling out as his stumpy tail wagged furiously. The King cocked an eyebrow.

"Da 'Big Cheese'?" he repeated, his eyes still half-lidded as an amused smile curled across his face.

"Em, uh, NO!" Rita interrupted, shooting a surreptitious glare at Runt. "He meant, ah, the MARQUIS! The Marquis of, eh...CARABAS!"

"Dat so?" The King leaned back in his throne again. Encouraged, Rita nodded quickly.

"Y-yes, Your Majesty!!" Giving a start, Rita immediately jumped onto her back paws (still stuck in boots) and pulled on her hip fur in an attempt at a curtsy. "The, eh, the Marquis, um, wishes to MEET YOU! 'Cus, uhhhh...well, you're the KING!"

"Gee, I never woulda' guessed," the rabbit rejoined, grinning smugly as he tapped his crown. Then he leaned forwards in his throne. "Ah, docs, I actually kinda want ta' meet him _too_. An' I t'ink dat me princess _niece_'d like ta meet 'im."

He gestured vaguely towards a curtain in the corner, which opened to show a diminutive pink female rabbit in a long-sleeved yellow shirt and a purple skirt, who glared at the reader. "You'd scream if you saw how much I'm getting for this," Babs commented, then as the curtain closed again she too began shouting for her lawyer.

"Ehhhh...da _other_ niece," the King clarified, sounding utterly unconcerned. But as another curtain opened, Rita couldn't exactly share that attitude.

Standing in a doorway, her hip cocked suggestively to the side, was a tall, slim white mink, long smooth blonde hair falling delicately onto her shoulders. Perched on top of her head was a conical lilac hat, a matching veil swept off of her face. As she stepped lightly out of the doorway towards the throne, rippling her pale purple gown with each step, Ralph the Knight suddenly became very nervous and shy, and the only thing stopping the Warner brothers from hopping out of nowhere and doing a wolf howl was the fact that Crackpot (once again speaking in third person) had tied them to a chair.

"Dis's me niece, Minoiva," the King announced as "Minoiva" waved pleasantly at Ralph, who melted into a puddle on the floor.

"Ohhhhh, yes," she sighed airily, fluffing out a long blonde tail behind her as she lowered her eyelids, "I _would_ like to meet this...'Marquis of Carabas'." She fluttered her eyes at Rita, though kept her distance from the cat. "He...IS _rich_, isn't he?"

"Heh?" Rita inquired, lost in awe and slight jealousy, then snapped back to attention. "Oh...oh, yes, YES! He's got riches, a'right! Ehhh...tons of 'em!"

Minerva sighed, fiddling with her veil and pouting a little. "Well, I'd certainly like to _see_ his riches." Her eyes then suddenly flamed as she glared at Rita. "GET ME?"

Rita yowled, jumping into the air, but the royal niece had become calm and demure again, retreating behind the curtain from whence she had come. Runt cocked his head to the side, appearing befuddled.

"Rita, how c'm everyone was starin' at her?" he asked the cat, raising one of his hind legs to scratch himself vigorously.

Rita arched an eyebrow, then gave a small, wry smile. "Well, that attitude would certainly be encouraging, if I didn't know that it came from the space between _your_ ears."

"A'right," the King interrupted, leaning forwards in his throne again. He snapped his fingers, and immediately a skeletonlike footman hurried up with an armload of carrots. The Monarch selected the biggest and most orange one, then, pressing a button on his armrest, he caused a trapdoor to open beneath Mr. Skullhead before calmly turning back to Rita and Runt as well as the congealed pile of goo that was Ralph. "You heard da goil," the rabbit managed past his new snack, "she wants ta see da Marquis's riches. An' if she likes it, yer Marquis is gettin' a room in da palace, along wit' youse, a'course."

Rita's heart swelled with excitement at the prospect of a new home, and Runt's tail began thumping against the floor. But then her hope deflated like a bad balloon from a circus clown ("AAAAAAH!! CLOWNS!!" screamed Wakko) as she suddenly remembered that Rob didn't _have_ any riches. She forgot about this momentarily, though, as she and Runt were unceremoniously flung out the door and across the moat, landing with a _whump_ on the lawn outside. But when she remembered, she was exorbitantly annoyed.

"Great. JUUUUUST _great!_" Rita griped, tossing her paws into the air and wobbling unsteadily in her boots. "NOW we're back to square one! How're we gonna find a way to fake a guy's riches?"

"I dunno, Rita, definitely dunno," Runt replied, scratching himself with a back paw again as he stared at a piece of paper. "But this script thingy that just fell from the sky pro'lly wouldn't help, nope, pro'lly not."

Rita's head snapped up, and she dove for the sheet of paper. "Give me thaaaaaat!" she cried, snatching it up. Her green eyes scanned it as fast as possible, and she read the text aloud. " ' "Rita in Boots" by The Illustrious Crackpot'—gee, that's a stupid name for an author—'page 14: Rita and Runt go to an ogre's castle in an attempt to defeat him and steal his kingdom for Rob.' " She nodded lethargically. "Mm-hmm, mm-hmm—waitaminnit, OGRE?!?" Rita jumped, then stared wildly about at the reader, the author and anyone else in view. "AN _OGRE?_ I AIN'T DOIN' THIS!!"

"Oh yes you _are_," Mr. Plotz interjected, clambering back into the story and shaking a fist pointedly at her. "This story's running long as it is, and I'm _not_ paying you overtime! Now get over there and defeat that ogre!"

And so, with a swift kick, the CEO sent Rita and Runt sailing into the next scene, and himself sailing into a violent dispute with The Humane Society.

_An ogre, ogre, my oh my_

_This was a nasty turn._

_And, dear reader, by-the-by,_

_D'you think this court might adjourn?_

("AW, SHUT _UP!_" Yakko finally shouted, tossing a bomb at the musical voice-over. After a loud explosion, there was silence at long last. Until the story continued anyways.)

"Gee, Rita," Runt panted, trying heaving himself forwards on top of the roof of a castle, "The plot is gettin', uhhh, thinner, yeah, _definitely_ thinner."

Rita was desperately trying to claw her way towards Runt, though instead of moving, she only managed to puff and wheeze. "In this case, Runt, I won't bother correcting you." She looked down behind her and tried her best to avoid swearing. "_Man_, these boots don't get much traction."

Finally Runt got the message and turned his head around, gently lifting Rita up with his teeth and depositing her just ahead of himself on the roof. Rita dusted herself off irritably, too annoyed at Mr. Plotz and the totally incompetent writer to thank him.

"Why WOULDN'T I get annoyed at the totally incompetent writer?!" the cat demanded, looking up sharply. "I haveta' go and fight an OGRE, fer cryin' out loud! I—"

Rita paused, rubbing her chin with a furry white paw, then lowered her eyelids in sly contemplation and looked up at the author. "Sssssssssssay," she purred, affecting unconcern as she twitched her tail back and forth, "I gotta propo_sition_ fer ya."

The author (now going to a therapist for the continual use of the third person) looked up from an old Macintosh PowerBook G3. "Yeah?"

Runt scrabbled up behind Rita, who was choosing her words deliberately. "...Whaddaya say you write the ogre out of the story? Then, _I_ don't haveta do all this WORK."

Crackpot contemplated it as the still-captive Warners wrecked havoc in the background. "What'll I get?"

"The satisfaction of a job well done," Runt panted, cutting Rita off, and nodded his head emphatically. "Yeah, satisfaction, definitely, _definitely_ a job well doMMMPH!"

Rita had slapped a paw over Runt's mouth lest he mess up the negotiations. "Ya still there?"

"No," replied the author. (Well, with Yakko in the same room, what do you EXPECT me to say? Something less...almost-funny?)

"Good," Rita resumed, barely listening. "So, _I_ don't haveta fight an ogre, an' YOU get ta' speed the story along quicker, so then you c'n post it an' stop feelin' guilty fer leavin' this story fer so long."

Crackpot blinked, hands momentarily leaving the keyboard, then turned a little red. "Yyyyyyeah, that might be a good idea...'Fairly Zany Tales' _has_ been hanging for five months..."

Rita's head pumped up and down enthusiastically. "Uh huh! Uh huh!" she agreed ecstatically, and Runt, though not really comprehending the situation, wagged his tail as his tongue lolled out. "That's GREAT! Soooooooooo, we'll just be goin' ta fetch Rob now!"

"Wait a minute!" interrupted the author, having thought of something, and picked up a slightly soggy comic book from the floor, where Wakko had thrown it after discovering that it wasn't overly edible. Crackpot shook it at Rita...from another dimension or something...who'm I kidding? No one's going to try and COMPREHEND any of this. "I _will_ write the ogre out, but you still gotta face something in there! To make up for never having any stories in the _Animaniacs_ comics!"

(Never thought that random line would come back and haunt you, eh?)

"But that wasn't our fault!" Rita yowled, extending her forepaws in pleading. Runt's face fell immediately, and he regained his usual bewildered countenance. The author scoffed.

"Hey, you could've made an EFFORT!" Crackpot protested emphatically, trying to ignore Dot randomly skipping around the room and unraveling a ball of yarn in the process. "Even CHICKEN BOO was a regular! And that kid, Randy Beaman's friend! You ain't got an excuse! An' hoooooo-doggy, ah'm talkin' lah'k Jed Clampett!"

Rita's eyes widened, too crestfallen at her further trials to be disturbed by that last bout of randomness. The author twitched spasmodically for no apparent reason, then typed a new sentence. "Oh, and, by the way, careful of that loose ceiling tile."

_As if on cue (a most hard feat)_

_The roof gave way below them._

_And as if that last bit couldn't be beat,_

_...Um...quick, what good words rhyme with "them"?_

As prophesied by the insanely stupid rhyme, Rita and Runt then fell through the roof and into the castle.

"Razzin'-frazzin' dadgum fanfiction authors," Rita muttered, trying to shove the huge mutt off of her and failing miserably. At last, she gritted her teeth and sucked in a deep breath. "GET OFFA' ME, YA ONE-DOG FLEA CIRCUS!"

Runt blinked several times rapidly, looking around to try and figure out where the voice was coming from. At last he stood up to get a better view of the room, a fortuitous chance which allowed Rita, gasping and wheezing, to crawl out from beneath him. Turning back to Runt, she opened her mouth to say something—but instead was struck speechless.

The entire room was very tastefully furnished, with the latest furniture and most expensive decorations money could buy. There were even a platinum busts of all three original Stooges, and somewhere off in the corner was what looked suspiciously like several influential _Looney Tunes_ animators frozen in carbonite.

("HEY! I was _looking_ for those!" cried the author, quickly writing them back into their proper places in a largely illegal underground gallery beneath the author's house. Ummm...forget you ever read that.)

"What in th' name a'—" began Rita, but was interrupted by a loud thumping sound, and her green eyes widened.

_Thud_.

_Thud_.

It was getting closer and closer, and, whatever it was, it was big.

_A sound it was, and what a sound_

_That plagued our two he—_

Fortunately for the reader, however, the insanely loud thuds drowned out the rhyming voice-over. YAAAAY!

"Why're you CELEBRATIN'?!?!!?" Rita demanded shrilly, waving both paws frantically at the author. "Me an' Runt are gonna get CREAMED! Maybe LITERALLY!!!"

This last cry managed to get Runt's attention, and he immediately bounded over towards Rita. "Cream?! Ohboyohboyohboy, I love cream, yeah, _definitely_ love cream!!!"

So declaring, he managed to use a toon trick to pull a tin of cream from thin air and popped it open, salivating. Which is no doubt confusing the readers, but I promise there's some kind of significance.

Just as Runt was about to devour the good, creamy cream and as Rita was about to scream at him for doing so, the door to the room flew open and both the dog and cat were then occupied with greater concerns:

Barreling into the room were two hippos, the male one a light blue and the female purple with a red bow on top of her head.

"OH, Flavio, _look!_" cried this female, clutching at the male hippo and gasping. "Eet ees a dog and cat! Oh, _tres chic_, _mon amour!_"

Flavio regarded the trembling Rita and Runt appreciatively. "Aaaaaahh, so _een_ fashion, my Marita," he agreed. "Eet was a geeft from Heaven _indeed_."

At last, Rita snapped. "**HIPPOS!!!**" she screeched, diving behind Runt and shivering, terrified. "Hipposhipposhipposhippos..._HIP HIPPOS_ NO LESS!!!" She grabbed at Runt's collar, shaking him vigorously back and forth to add emphasis to her words. "THEY'RE GONNA SMOTHER US, RUNT!!! WE CAN'T LIVE HERE!!!!!! OH MY GOD, THIS IS _WORSE_ THAN TH' OGRE!" Having thoroughly lost her grip by now, Rita jumped out in front of Runt again, brandishing the first weapon that came to hand. "BACK, DEMONS! COWER AT THE SIGHT OF MY...can of cream?..."

Instead of viewing the threat as it was meant, Marita gasped in surprise and delight. "FLAVIO! Zey are offering us a present! How _nice!_"

In their rush for the sugar, Flavio and Marita nearly threw themselves at Rita, making her yowl again and desperately push herself and Runt out of the way. Cream flew _everywhere_ as both hippos hungrily devoured the contents of the tiny can, but just as Rita was trying to catch her breath for a mad dash out of the castle, Flavio and Marita suddenly straightened. Rita cringed, preparing for the onslaught of the most hideously deadly love that could possibly be experienced (with the exception of becoming a pet of Elmyra), when suddenly—

"FLAVIO!!!" Marita gasped in horror, dropping the empty can. "_FLAVIO!!!_ 'OW MANY CARBS WERE _EEN_ ZAT CAN?!!?"

Flavio immediately understood Marita's panic as he suddenly embraced her. "MARITA! Eet ees _true!_ We juust ate more zhan our diets would allow!" He struck a decisive pose, thrusting a fist into the air. "We must lose zis extra poundage _posthaste_, my dear!"

"Yes, _YES!_" cried Marita as both of them dashed for the door. However, once there, Flavio paused and turned back to Rita and Runt.

"Here are zee keys for zee castle," he announced, tossing them a banana-shaped keychain and a piece of paper. "And here eez zee deed. Now keep good care of zee place while we're gone, my pets!"

"See you een twenty years!" Marita added, and, squeezing themselves through the tiny doorframe, the two hippos exited the castle, the rest of this story and, hopefully, all planes of existence.

Rita was struck speechless, staring first at the door, then at the ring of keys and the legal document in her paws. She began spluttering incoherently, not even attempting to form a complete sentence, and she continued doing that even as Runt bounded up to her. He scratched his head, confused at his companion's inability to speak, then noticed the stuff she was holding. His tongue lolled out, and he jumped up and down in excitement.

"Oh boy, CHEW TOYS!!! Yeah, definitely, _definitely_ chew toys!!!!"

Rita snapped out of it just as Runt made a grab for the keys, snatching them out of his way. "You _dolt!_" she snapped, though her voice was quivering with exhilaration. "These are the KEYS TO THE CASTLE!" Her eyes became wide and teary as they turned towards the sky. "_We've got a home!_"

_A story's happy ending_

_Now don't all come in a mob;_

_The plotline we'll be bending_

_As we now return to Rob._

Rob was still snoring loudly against the back of the tree when a convenient plot hole sent Rita and Runt scurrying down the road towards him. "Guy! Hey, _guy!!_" Rita shouted, and Rob awoke with a start, waving his hands in front of his face.

"NO, momma! I ain't a moth, I'm a _winged rabbit!_" Suddenly spotting Rita and Runt, though, Rob sat up straighter and tried to pretend that the previous scene hadn't occurred. "So...eh...you done? We all set?"

"Yup, _definitely_, yeah, definitely _definitely_," Runt panted, chasing his own tail as he did so. "Ohboyohboyohboy, a home, definitely a _home_..."

Rita, standing wobblingly in her boots, handed the keys and deed to Rob while bursting with pride. "You're the Marquis of Carabas," she informed him, letting slip an involuntary giggle. Finally able to stand it no longer, Rita grabbed Rob's hand and started tugging, starting down the road towards the King's castle. "C'mon, we gotta go see the King!!!!"

After an excessively convenient cut-scene, the cat, dog and human were welcomed into the King's storybook palace with another fanfare of trumpets, following which the three ran full-tilt down the red carpet. The rabbity King was still lounging in his throne, and Minerva sat perched on its armrest.

As soon as Rob saw the royal niece, he immediately fell flat on his face, having tripped over the tongue that was hanging out of his wide-open mouth. Once he managed to stand up, though, his knees were bending the wrong way and he started gibbering incoherently, dribbling saliva on the floor. "Homina-homina-homina-homina—"

Rita elbowed him sharply, bowing before the King. "The Marquis of Carabas, yer Highness," she proclaimed, then, as Rob was in no condition to do so himself, she lifted up the keys and deed to the hippos' castle. "An' _here's_ yer proof that he's LOADED!"

"_I'll_ be the judge of **that**," Minerva smirked, winking slyly at Rob. He immediately dissolved into a puddle of goo, then quickly reformed into a kneeling position and grasped Minerva's white furry hand.

"COME LIVE WIT' ME!" he shouted, trembling spastically.

Minerva began to smile, then her face darkened into an angry expression. "Not with that _cat_, I hope," she spat, then immediately effected a more fragile demeanor and pretended to half-swoon. "I'm _allergic_ to cats."

Rita yelped as she saw where this was going, even while Rob's eyes glazed over and he asked, "_What_ cat?" before calmly picking Rita up and tossing her out the window.

"**(EXPLETIVE DELETED)!!!!**" Rita screamed as she landed on the grass outside the castle. "(EXPLETIVE DELETED)!!!!! (EXPLETIVE DELETED)!!!!!!!!!! _(EXPLETIVE DELETED)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_"

The string of curses, however censored, was abruptly cut off as Runt came sailing out of the same window and onto the grass beside Rita with an "Ooof!" The big dog quickly picked himself up, though, and shook himself all over. "She don't like dogs neither, nope, _definitely_ don't like dogs," he affirmed.

Rita grumbled, crossing her arms. "How d'ya like _that?!?_ We gave that human riches an' a future, an' he just throws us _out!_ How COULD he?!?!"

Runt stuck his tongue out, furrowing his brow as he thought upon this. "I think it's a plot formula, Rita," he decided at last. "Yeah, _definitely_ a plot formula. 'R somethin'."

There was a pause as Rita continued muttering some choice obscenities, then at length she sighed and stood back up, scornfully kicking the boots off her back paws and returning to all fours. "Aaaah, that guy was a _jerk_," she grumbled, then she jumped on Runt's back and he started walking down the road.

"Gee, Rita," asked the big dog as they headed into the sunset, "what're we gonna do tonight?"

Instead of taking the cue, though, Rita sighed and flicked her tail back and forth. "Let's just go on 'til we hit the next fairytale. ...I got a hankerin' fer the tale of the mouse and the _lion_..."

—**END—**

_And the Warners, reading this over Crackpot's shoulder, gave a solid berating to the author for actually contemplating posting such a mediocre-or-below story. Apparently I didn't listen._


End file.
